


Monster

by Fiery_Charizard



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7060159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiery_Charizard/pseuds/Fiery_Charizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's wall has broken but he is determined not to be a victim. What if memories of hell and hallucinations weren't the only things let loose? Amidst a backdrop of cases, will the boys discover what's wrong before it's too late? Can Sam be saved? AU set around/in season 7 with elements of season 11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tear Me Up and Break Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! So I've had some pretty good feedback on this on my other site so figured I'd see how it did here! It's still a work in progress but it is near the end!

**oOo**

**Jamestown, North Dakota**

“I just don’t get it.” Rising up from his squatted position on the floor next to the body, Dean let out an exasperated huff.

“Get what?” Sam asked, murmuring a quick thank you to the uniformed officer he had been chatting to before turning back to his brother. He flipped the cover of his notepad closed and slid it back into the left inside pocket of his suit jacket.

“This,” Dean said quietly, waving his hand at the body on the ground. “How is this in anyway our type of case?”

The girl at his feet appeared to be in her late teens. Blond hair splayed out across the pavement, matted and lifeless against the black tarmac. Her head was tilted to the left, her right arm raised and resting while her left arm lay at her side. If she wasn’t in the middle of the alley, she’d almost look asleep. Except her eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the wall; the rest of her face contorted in a lasting image of horror and agony. Her legs were bent at an unnatural angle as though she had just crumpled to the floor. The streetlight overhead glistened on the liquid staining the ground beside her throat; an ugly jagged cut stood out starkly against the porcelain skin on her neck.

“According to the uniform over there, the forensic guys were muttering about how odd this was; it fits with what I picked it up on the radio chatter” Sam replied, his brows furrowing as his gaze dropped to the girl. He hunched down. Kept his eyes firmly on the body, away from Lucifer who crouched beside the victim, absentmindedly jabbing into her neck wound with a finger. Sam’s stomach roiled nauseatingly. “Look.” He shone the light from his phone onto the pool of blood next to her head. Dean bent over, frowning. Sam gestured to the substance. “If Annabel had simply just had her throat slit by her killer before they ran, there would be so much more blood. I’d say there’s no more than a pint here, tops. The average person has eight.”

“Maybe the killer moved her body” Dean offered, although he doubted the likelihood of that himself. Sam shook his head.

“There’s no evidence to suggest the body was moved. So if she’s here, where’s the rest of her blood?”

“Ah man, I hate playing guess who,” Dean grumbled as he rose again. Sam fell into step beside him as they moved back towards the Impala. Ignored Lucifer humming ‘I just Died in your Arms’. “Or in our case, guess what? Vampire? Djinn?”

Sam frowned over the roof of the car. “Why would a vampire cut her throat? A djinn could’ve fed on her for days, using that trick that one used on you years ago.” Dean grimaced at the memory; djinn were known for using hallucinogens to incapacitate their victims so that they could prolong their ‘use’. “It all seems a bit…messy.”

Dean grunted as he slid into the driver’s seat. The doors creaked as the boys slammed them shut. “We should see the family and get into the morgue but that’s gonna have to wait until the morning.” Turning the ignition, the Impala roared to life. “God, I’m starving.”

“Dinner and lore it is then.”

“I get all tingly when you make such romantic suggestions” Dean grinned. Sam rolled his eyes, already moving his attention to his phone, flinching when Lucifer repeated Dean’s words in his ear.

**oOo**

“Ok, thanks Bobby.” Sam ended the call, placing his phone back on the stained coffee table of their motel room. He glanced over at the beds; Dean lay against the headboard, his head drooping, fingers still on his laptop. “Dean!” The older Winchester snorted unceremoniously as he jerked awake, glancing at Sam.

“I wasn’t asleep!” He mumbled, arching his back as he stretched. Sam chuckled.

“Right. Because you regularly drool on yourself when you’re conscious,” he teased. Dean wiped a hand across his face. “I just got off the phone with Bobby. He’s as stumped as we are. He said to treat it as though it’s a djinn, but to be prepared for something else.”

“Silver knives and buckshot it is then” Dean yawned, glancing at the clock. 4.30am. “Jesus, Sammy, go to bed; we’ll sort this in the morning.” He closed his own laptop and slid it onto the table beside him. Sammy knocked back the final finger of whiskey in his glass before standing and stretching. With his arms above his hand, he could’ve nearly touched the ceiling.

“What’s wrong bunk-buddy; feeling tired?” Same winced as Lucifer whispered, almost seductively, in his ear. His arms fell and he clenched his left hand in his right, pressing his thumb viciously into the still-healing wound of his palm.

_Make it stone number one and build on it._

Lucifer vanished with a snigger. Sam sighed with relief; he’d managed to ignore the hallucination for most of the day. It felt like progress. He glanced back at Dean as he moved across the room; his brother was half-watching him through drooping eyelids. He knew Sam still hallucinated but he didn’t pressure him. He was stone number one and that’s what Sam had to cling to. Flopping down onto the dilapidated mattress that squeaked horrendously as he landed on it, Sam kicked his shoes off and curled onto his side, hugging the pillow beneath his head. Sleep came quickly.

The dreams were quicker.

**oOo**


	2. The Nightmare's Just Begun

_The alley was dark and inviting; plumes of smoke rising from the manhole covers littering the ground. Shadows flickered in the dying streetlight, stretching themselves forlornly up the graffiti-littered walls. She sauntered ahead of him; her walk confident and flirtatious. She knew he was watching. She drew him deeper into the alley, away from civilisation, away from prying eyes. She slowed, turning and facing him head on. Her eyes met his, her hands on her hips. He stepped closer to her. So close that she was forced to shift her gaze up drastically. His whole body hummed. Her smirk was crooked, unpleasant. A complete contrast to her walk._

_“You shouldn’t have come.” She stated, matter-of-fact._

_“Neither should you.” Her eyes widened as the knife flashed in the light. Just once. It slashed her carotid artery; she convulsed, flopping against him before he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her gushing throat. His head dropped and he clamped his mouth over the wound, sucking powerfully._

**oOo**

“Sam!” He started awake, groggily looking up at Dean who stood over him, his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Dude, you were thrashin’ around like a crazy person. What’s goin’ on?” Sam rubbed his hand across his face, sitting up. His forehead was drenched in sweat.

“It was just a dream. Guess that’s what happens when you go to sleep thinking about the case” he replied. Dean frowned but didn’t comment. Sometimes dreams were just dreams and, let’s face it, they both had seen enough to give them endless nightmares until the end of time. He finished buttoning his shirt, reaching for the blue striped tie.

“Right, well, we should work out what the hell we’re dealing with. I’ll drop you off with the family. You can work out what kinda person Annabel was. I’ll hit the morgue.”

**oOo**

The Watson family home stood on a quiet suburban street lined with white picket fences and minivans. The lawns were immaculate, sprinklers fluffing water in lazy arches, powdering the manicured grass. Fairy lights were wrapped around the bannisters on either side of the porch, inviting visitors up to the main entrance.

Inside, the house was full of family memorabilia. In the living room, photo frames were dotted across every surface and wall, proudly displaying a content and happy family in various places: at home, skiing in Banff, swimming in Hawaii. Two large cream sofas dominated the room, facing each other with a long mahogany coffee table stretched between them. Mr and Mrs Watson huddled together on one sofa, their legs touching as Mr Watson grasped his wife’s hand. She dabbed under her eyes with a tissue every few seconds, trying unsuccessfully to blot away her tears.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Watson; I know this is hard for you, but I just have a few more questions,” Sam said, compassion colouring his voice. “Was there anything usual going on with Annabel recently? It could be anything: hanging out with different people, changing routine - anything at all.”

The Watsons glanced at each other and Sam felt his heart quicken; there was something.

“Well…Annabel has been…odd recently” Mr Watson started.

“Odd how?” Sam asked, leaning forward on his knees.

“Annabel was a typical sixteen year old; she had a nice group of friends, her scores at school were good and sometimes she pushed the boundaries, but what teenager doesn’t?” Mr Watson continued. “But recently…she was…moody. Sullen. She’s lock herself away in her room when she was here but then, when she did go out, she’d miss curfew. She was actually grounded yesterday because of that. She must’ve snuck out her window.” Mrs Watson’s shoulders heaved as another sob shuddered through her. Her husband squeezed her hand, tears brimming in his own eyes.

“Did she mention any new friends?”

“No, but when we called her friends’ parents, they all said that she’d been distancing herself from their children. We couldn’t understand it. Please, Agent Cooper, find whoever did this.” Sam rose, nodding to the couple as he let himself out.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket with one hand, pulling his phone from his pocket with the other. No messages. Dean should’ve finished at the morgue by now. He glanced around the neighbourhood, noting the calm atmosphere that blanketed the whole area as he dialled Dean’s number. It went straight to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m done at the Watsons’. Come get me when you’re done.” He started walking down the street, glad of the opportunity to stretch his legs and scope the area while he waited for his brother.

“A bit useless at this aren’t you?” He jumped, head snapping to the side as Lucifer fell into step beside him. He squeezed his left palm, waiting for the hallucination to dissipate. Lucifer continued to walk beside him, grinning. “Your little palm trick really only works when Dean’s around doesn’t it? He gives you something else to think about -  someone else to concentrate on. Here? Just you and me, Sammy.” Sam shifted his gaze away, quickening his pace. “I can’t believe you can’t even see what’s in front of you. You’ve gone soft; you can’t even handle one simple case.” Lucifer grinned despite Sam’s lack of response. He just kept staring resolutely ahead. “It’s pathetic really. The answer is so obvious that you can’t even see it.”

“Shut UP! If you’re so damn clever, why don’t you solve the damn thing!” Sam turned and shouted, fists clenched at his sides.

“Sam?”

He whipped his head around, eyes meeting Dean’s over the roof of the Impala.

“Dean I-I didn’t hear you pull up” Sam murmured, starting towards the car, Lucifer’s laugh ringing in his ears.

“That’s because you were too busy shouting at no one in the middle of the street with your gun drawn,” Dean retorted, his frown etched deeply into his forehead. Sam looked down in surprise.

“I didn’t…I don’t remember drawing my gun.”

 “You said you had this under control, Sam.”

“I do!”

“Clearly, you don’t. C’mon, man. You call waving a gun around in the suburbs ‘control’?”

“Dean, I’m _fine_ ” Sam growled through clenched teeth as he got into the Impala.

“Oh yeah, you’re _sooooo_ fine, aren’t you?” Lucifer sniggered, his breath tickling Sam’s ear. He flinched. Dean looked from Sam, who stared angrily out through the windshield, his jaw taut, to the back seat. There was nothing there.

“I knew coming out on this case was too soon. We should head back to Bobby’s” he stated softly.

“Dean, _no_. We need to finish this.”

“Honestly Sam, even if I wasn’t concerned about you, I would’ve still said we should go anyway.”

“What? Why?”

“The autopsy was completely normal. Ok, yeah, there was blood missing, but not half as much as the forensic guys thought in the first place – three or four pints, max. I honestly think Annabel was just the victim of some human scumbag. There are no other reported cases in the area with missing blood. I say we head home and keep our feelers out for anything similar that crops up. In the meantime, you can work on getting the crazy back in the box.”

Sam shook his head. “Three or four pints is still a pretty big amount to lose, Dean. Plus, it doesn’t tie in with what the family said. Annabel was acting weird – sneaking out, missing curfew, isolating herself from her friends.”

“Sounds like a typical teenager to me.”

“Teenagers don’t just mystically change overnight. I’m telling you – there is _something_ going on here. If we leave now, whatever it is will do it again.”

Dean stared at his brother. Noted the deeper shade of black under his eyes which Sam was fighting to keep trained on Dean. He couldn’t stop them flicking to the back seat every now and then though. His hair was tousled; he’d pushed it back haphazardly with one hand too many times; a motion he generally only did when he was stressed. He was far from fine, no matter what he kept saying, but if there was one thing Dean knew, it was that his brother was stubborn. If Sam believed there was a case here, he wasn’t simple going to let it drop. Dean sighed and held out his hand. Sam frowned in confusion.

“Give me your gun.”

“What?”

“Sam, if you want to stay and work the case, fine, we’ll stay. But I’m not convinced that you’re as stable as you think you are. Until we’re certain, I don’t think carrying a firearm is in your best interest. Give me your gun.”

Sam sighed; he knew Dean wouldn’t drop it. He was sick of being treated like a child, like a victim. He wasn’t that fragile; yes, he was broken but he wasn’t in pieces anymore.

“Fine.” He fished his gun out from under his jacket and passed it to Dean who double checked the safety and put it under his own jacket.

**oOo**

By the evening, the boys were at a total loss. They’d visited Annabel’s friends and school, managing to turn up nothing that they didn’t already know. The friends confirmed what her parents had said; Annabel had been behaving strangely, sneaking off and refusing to tell people where she’d been. Her teachers commented on her sullenness and lack of effort but couldn’t tell them more than that.

Bobby and the internet had turned up nothing else. They were officially out of leads. Dean walked back into the motel room from the bathroom, walking over to where his half-finished beer sat. He took a mouthful, rubbing at the drowsiness that was worming its way in behind his eyes with one hand. Sam was flat out on his bed, phone in one hand, a book open and resting on his chest which rose and fell smoothly with each breath. Dean smiled softly at the boyish vulnerability his brother still had when he slept. He moved over to his sleeping brother, gently lifting the book off of his chest and removing his phone from his hand, placing both on the bedside table. Grabbing the blanket that was haphazardly hanging off the end of his own unmade bed, Dean draped it over his sleeping form.

He took a final swig of his beer, swaying slightly. How was he this tired? Yawning mightily, he kicked off his shoes, double checked that Sam’s gun was safely stowed under his pillow (along with his own) before flopping down face first into his pillow. Within minutes, his gentle snores filled the room.

**oOo**

A soft thump woke him. Blearily, Dean lifted his head, squinting up at the tall figure stood over Sam’s bed. His eyes groggily scanned the build of the man, recognising him.

“Sam, what’re you doing?” He mumbled.

“Just getting a glass of water, Dean. Go back to sleep.” Sam responded. Dean grunted, rolling over. One part of his brain registered how awake his brother sounded, but was quickly overpowered by the need to sleep again.

**oOo**

“So I was thinking,” Sam began around a mouthful of pancake, “we should go back to the alley. Annabel had to be going down there for a reason. Maybe we’re missing something blindingly obvious.”

Dean shrugged, gulping his coffee. “Can’t hurt. S’not like we’ve got much else to go on.” His chair screeched against the floor as he pushed back, crossing over to his bed to collect his things. Sam finished his own coffee, chasing down the remnants of his breakfast. He stared out of the window tiredly. For all the sleep he’d had, he didn’t feel rested at all. Dean moved his pillow, frowning.

“Sam, did you move your gun?”

“What? No. Why would I?” Sam answered, turning back to face his brother. Dean flung his covers back, checking under the bed and around it.

“It was there!” he gestured to the top of the bed. “I remember double checking it was there before I went to bed.”

“What do you want me to say, Dean? I told you I wouldn’t carry it and I’m not!” Sam shrugged. “Maybe you just think you put it there.” Dean ground his teeth; he knew where he’d put it. He pulled the drawer of the bedside table open. He grabbed the gun, starting down at it in confusion. “See? You must’ve put in there. Why would you need two under your pillow?”

…Had he put it there? Dean hesitated.

“Maybe you’re not the only looney in the bin” Lucifer grinned, leaning over Dean’s shoulder. His eyes were fixed on Sam. “A family trait, perhaps?” He ignored the devil, pushing his arms through his jacket.

“Whatever. Let’s go.” Dean huffed, concealing his gun and leading the way out of the door.

**oOo**

In the light, the alley was a lot less eerie. The ground was littered with scraps of old leaflets and oily puddles that left a greasy residue as they dried up. Bins lined one side; the faint putrid smell of rubbish baking in the summer clinging to the air.

This time, the boys weren’t interested in the crime scene itself; they were intent on prowling the buildings that lined the alley. One side housed a greasy kebab house, its back door only openable from the inside. The other side appeared to be the home of several abandoned offices, left empty and decaying slowly. The alley was a dead end – Annabel had to have been heading somewhere. This was the obvious choice.

Dean led the way up a second flight of stairs. He breathed shallowly through his mouth, grimacing at the revolting stench that wafted throughout the building. Clearly, this place had been the squatting grounds of several different groups of people; the homeless, drug addicts, other less savoury types. Now, though, it was disturbingly quiet. Dean felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck.

Something wasn’t right.

His machete bounced lightly against his thigh as he climbed the final step. Sam walked closely behind him. They walked through a doorway – the door was long gone – and found themselves in a spacious anteroom that would’ve served as a waiting room in times gone by. Dean stopped, holding his arm out to block Sam. He pointed at the ground. Sam looked down.

Blood spotted the floor.

Dean drew his gun, signalling Sam to unsheathe his machete. They edge forward, constantly scanning the area around them. Moving into the office opposite the stairwell, they both halted and stared in surprise.

“What the hell?” Dean exclaimed, staring at the corpse in the middle of the floor. Sam moved away from him, scouting the rest of the room as Dean approached the body. It appeared to belong to a man in his late twenties, judging by his clothes. His head lay separated from his body, eyes drooped as though he was bored.

“All clear” Sam called, returning to Dean’s side. Dean knelt down, signalling to Sam to give him his machete. He used the tip of the blade to lift the man’s upper lip, revealing an extra set of incisors embedded into his gums.

“Vampire.”

“This is bizarre.”

“I’ll say,” Dean replied, straightening up. “This doesn’t make any sense. Did he kill Annabel? Who ganked him? Bobby would’ve said if he knew another hunter was in town.”

“Oh the plot thickens” Lucifer said excitedly, crouching down with Sam. Sam rolled his eyes. He searched the vampire’s pockets, looking for anything that could prove useful. He pulled the man’s wallet out and flicked it open, finding his driver’s licence.

“Gary Burkhardt. According to his ID he’s 29 and from Watertown. Course, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.” A further rummage produced a knife. “Why would a vamp carry a knife?”

“Maybe he was new? Maybe he was a sadistic son of a bitch. Maybe he liked variety to his kills. Who knows.” Dean shrugged. “Case closed I guess.”

Sam straightened up, frowning. “This doesn’t feel right. It’s too…”

“Convenient?” Dean finished for him. “I know. But, hey, it’s one less vampire, right?”

“Yeah, I guess” Sam murmured. It didn’t sit right with him. There was something off about the whole thing…he just couldn’t work out what it was. He grimaced, horrified when Lucifer grabbed the vampire’s head by its hair and dangled it in front of him like a grotesque puppet. “We should go.”

“Awww Sammy, c’mon. Don’t you want a show?” Lucifer’s words rang in his ears as he ran down the stairs, Dean calling after him.

“Sam? Sam! Wait!” Dean shouted, grabbing him by the arm. “What’s wrong?” Lucifer appeared at the top of the stairs, still grasping the head. He hurled it at the boys. Sam flung Dean to the side, out of the line of the flying head. “Dude! Seriously! What the hell!” Dean shouted, grabbing Sam’s arm tightly. “Look at me!”

Sam’s wide eyes travelled to Dean’s face, blinking hard to focus on him.

“I’m sorry. He-”

“He what?”

“He flung the head at you. I couldn’t tell…”

“If it was real?” Sam nodded, panic flickering behind his eyes. Dean grabbed his left hand and pressed. Sam gasped in pain but watched as Lucifer flickered out of view. He looked back at Dean. “Stone number one, right? C’mon, this time we’re going back to Bobby’s. No arguments.”

Sam nodded mutely and followed as Dean prodded him towards the door. The case was over…so why didn’t it feel like it was?

**oOo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So not all sitting right with the boys, but not all cases can be clean cut…right?


	3. The Secret Side of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken artistic licence with the fire later on and would like to thank Google Maps for giving me the locations for this chapter! As always, reviews are appreciated! Enjoy!

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Dean leaned back in the rigid chair in Bobby’s kitchen table. He fidgeted, trying to find a position where the hard wood wasn’t digging into his back. His feet found their way onto the stained kitchen table as he took another mouthful of his beer. His laptop balanced precariously on his lap.

“What’ve I told you ‘bout stickin’ your boots on my table?” Bobby growled, swatting at his feet as he lumbered past. Dean grinned into the mouth of the beer bottle, dropping his feet to the floor. The old hunter dropped down into the chair opposite, readjusting the won baseball cap on his head. He looked at Dean, his expression drawn and serious. “How you doin’, kid?”

“Peachy, as always,” Dean shrugged, concentrating on the screen in front of him. He could practically feel Bobby’s dissatisfied glare burning a hole in the top of his head. “Where’s Sam?”

“Runnin’ again, I think. Last I saw he was doin’ laps round the back of the scrapyard. For someone you claim to be havin’ a meltdown, he seems surprisingly fulla energy.”

“Something just ain’t right, Bobby; I can feel it.” It had been 3 days since the boys’ return from Jamestown. Sam had been quiet the entire journey home, simply staring vacantly out of the passenger window. He had barely even registered Dean sat next to him. He seemed…deflated.

Dean was at a complete loss; how do you help someone who was barely hanging on? He liked the physical – things he could hunt, could kill. He couldn’t kill Sam’s inner turmoil.

He had never felt so helpless.

The younger Winchester had spent the first day resting, ever mindful of Dean’s gaze as he watched him read, slam Bobby at chess and clean his entire gun collection. Yet, for the last two, he had been restless, constantly on the move: running, helping shift things around the yard, hell, Bobby had even caught him cleaning out the panic room.

“Yeah, well, I think he’s more fine than you give him credit for; the boy is driving me nuts with his incessant movin’ around. Can’t you take him out somewhere?” Bobby moaned, glancing at his pristine desk which hadn’t seen daylight in months before now.

“It just so happens; I think I found us a case – not too far from here.” The back door slammed and Sam appeared, pulling headphones out of his ears as he entered the kitchen.

“What’s not far from here?” he asked, wiping the back of his hand across his dripping forehead. The ends of his hair were damp and stuck to the back of his neck. His grey t-shirt clung to his sculpted chest which was still rising and falling rapidly. Dean grimaced.

“The shower.”

“Very funny,” Sam retorted, guzzling from a glass of water.

“Dean says he’s found a case” Bobby explained, rolling his eyes. Sam’s eyes lit up as he licked the remaining water from his top lip.

“What is it? Where?” Dean turned the laptop to face him. Both Sam and Bobby leaned in, scanning the article.

FAMILY CLAIM HOUSE IS A MENACE

“So get this: the wife claims she’s being ‘beaten’ in the middle of the night by a demon. It says the family are after a cleansing since the last priest ran out in a blind panic.” Dean explained as Sam scrolled down. Several pictures of ugly black and yellow bruises littering the back of a woman holding her shirt up were injected throughout the article.

“Ghost?”

“That’d be my guess.”

“Do we know anything about the house?”

“Seems pretty normal – 1960s, a few previous owners. We’ll probably need to do a bit of digging in Pipestone after we visit the family.”

Sam straightened up. “Fine. I’ll go shower.”

“Don’t forget to pack your priest suit!”

“I hate the priest get up…”

“What? Too ‘righteous’ for you? Things to ‘black and white’?”

“I’m not even dignifying your terrible puns with a response.” Sam called as he disappeared into the depths of the house.

“Too late – you already did!” Dean called, grinning broadly. Bobby rolled his eyes again; sometimes he wondered how the boys actually functioned like adults.

**oOo**

**Pipestone, Minnesota**

The Impala roared up Highway 23, black bonnet flashing in the bright Minnesotan sun. Corn fields stretched for miles on either side of the road which shot like an arrow straight up the middle. Dean leaned one arm lazily out of the window, enjoying the feel of the breeze fluttering against his fingertips. Master of Puppets played softly in the background, complementing the growl of Baby’s engine. His gaze flickered over to Sam who sat silently; his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He was idly rubbing at the wound on his left palm with his right thumb. Dean doubted he even realised he was doing it.

“So what’s goin’ on with you, man?” he asked, shifting his eyes back to the road ahead. He sensed rather than watched Sam come out of his daydream.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been runnin’ around nonstop at Bobby’s. He practically begged me to drag you away.”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel…twitchy. Like I’ve got too much energy and nothing seems to burn it off. Kinda like when you’re craving a burger or whatever and you don’t feel right until you’ve had one.”

“Maybe you need to get laid” Dean laughed flippantly. Sam huffed. 

 “I’m pretty sure I’m not craving sex, Dean.”

“Everyone craves sex, Sam. It’s what separates us from the animals.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s what makes us _like_ the animals,” Sam retorted. “It’s fine. I think being out working a case will be good for me. Let’s face it, ghosts are pretty simple these days. I know what you’re doing though; you don’t need to pick small cases because of me.”

It was Dean’s turn to shrug. “So long as we’re helping people, what does it matter what we’re saving them from?”

“He doesn’t think you can handle it” came the mocking singsong from the backseat. Sam flexed his jaw, trying his hardest to ignore the jab. The problem was that Sam believed it. He knew Dean had his best interests at heart but still…it stung. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers; the headache that had been dully throbbing all day just kept ramping itself up. A fine sheen of sweat coated his brow. It wasn’t that hot in the Impala…

Great. If he was coming down with something, it would just be another reason for Dean to send him packing back to Bobby’s. He cracked open his window a few inches, relieved as the wind ruffled the fine layers in his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. The sooner they got to Pipestone, the sooner he could work.

**oOo**

The house stood on the corner of 2nd and 3rd Avenue South West, nestled behind a small canopy of trees that spilled sunlight on the house like tiny firelights. A circular flowerbed decorated the front lawn with an explosion of bright colours amongst the flowers. A basketball hoop stood parallel to the tarmacked driveway opposite the pathway which wrapped itself around the whole of the outside of the house. It captured the essence of the gothic era but had clearly settled itself into modern living.

“My children are afraid to go into the house, Father. I honestly don’t know what to do” the petite brunette explained as she strolled through the garden with Sam. Georgia O’Keefe had the harried look of a desperate mother. While her outer appearance was pristine, Sam could see the fright lurking behind her eyes, the shadows she was desperate to conceal beneath her dark lashes. He had adopted his usual ‘priest pose’: hands clasped behind his back, head slightly bowed so that his height was less imposing. He nodded sympathetically.

“You say you only moved in a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes. Normally we would have our priest bless the house before we move in but it was such a hectic move that Ted and I just didn’t have time…” As she spoke, Georgia worried her wedding ring, nervously twisting it around her finger over and over. The urge to pull at the dog collar around his neck was overwhelming in the heat – especially when he was wearing a black shirt and suit. Sam glanced up at the house, spying Dean in the window of the living room, his back to the outside. Frowning, Sam focused on a bizarre mark on his brother’s back. He gasped, coming to a halt. Georgia looked at him quizzically. “Father? What’s wrong?”

Protruding from Dean’s back was a fire poker – still dripping. Lucifer sidestepped around Dean, grinning down at Sam. “Father Steven?”

Sam wrenched his eyes away, his chest heaving. He looked at Georgia who stared up at him with wide eyes which he could only assume matched his own look.

“I’m sorry, Georgia. I just…”

“It’s overwhelming isn’t it? The other priest said he could feel it too.”

“Well that’s a load of bullshit” Lucifer remarked, whacking at Georgia’s rosebushes with the still bloody fire poker, wielding it like a golf club. He lined up each shot carefully before sending the bloom of each flower flying. “There’s nothing wrong with the house.”

“Who could feel what?” Dean asked as he approached, his face a mask of grave serenity. A low whining noise sounded as he got near them. Dean reached into his inner pocket, appearing to be readjusting his phone.

“Father Steven here was just overcome by the essence of the evil in this house,” Georgia explained, her voice low and serious. Dean looked pointedly at Sam.

“Ah. Well Father Steven is very…sensitive to these things” he commented. Sam glared at him over Georgia’s head. Dean took her hand in both of his. “I’m sorry, Mrs O’Keefe. We will need to leave you for a little while so that we can prepare the appropriate exorcism. Are you sure the previous owners never mentioned a haunting?”

She shook her head, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I guess it’s not really the type of thing you tell a prospective buyer. Please, get what you need and hurry back.”

Dean nodded, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before turning back towards the Impala, Sam in tow.

“’Overcome by the essence of evil’ huh?” Dean remarked as he pulled off the drive.

“Yeah well, it’s not like I could tell her that Lucifer was hanging out in her living room, could I?” Sam grumbled, rubbing his forehead again. “Did you find anything in the house?”

“Not a speck of EMF anywhere until I came out to you” Dean replied. Sam frowned.

“I don’t think the house is haunted. I think the family is.”

“What makes you say that?”

“For starters, Georgia said she _normally_ had a priest bless a new house. Ok, she’s catholic, but how many go to that kind of lengths for a house? Then…”

“Then what?” Dean prompted when his brother went still.

“It was something Lucifer said” Sam murmured, wincing at his own words. Dean looked at him sharply.

“So now we’re _listening_ to the crazy??”

“No, Dean, listen,” Sam cut in, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “He said there was nothing wrong with the house. That fits with what you said about there not being any EMF. There were no reports of any hauntings at the property before the O’Keefes moved in. I think there’s something she’s not telling us.”

“Time to look into the family history then.”

**oOo**

By dusk, the boys had everything they needed. They stood on the porch, dusk having long settled in the sky behind them. Every light in the house appeared to be on yet it was just Georgia who opened the door again. She silently gestured for the Winchesters to enter, leading them to the living room. Heat radiated from the fire which was odd considering the temperature outside. Dean placed a duffle bag down on the dining table in the corner, pulling out a can of rock salt and an iron bar, placing both on the table. He left the shotgun and accelerant in the bag for the moment. Georgia looked at the items in confusion.

“I don’t understand…don’t you need your bibles to exorcise demons?”

“Georgia is there anything you need to tell us?” Sam asked gently. She looked up at him, the same fear from before in her eyes. Her fingers moved back to her wedding ring again. She took a step back involuntarily.

“I-I don’t know what you mean. What has that got to do with the house?”

The lights flickered.

Dean stepped forward, his frown etched deeply into his forehead. “We don’t think it’s the house that’s haunted. You are.”

Another step back. She found herself pressed against the hardwood of the dining table.

“I’m not possessed if that’s what you’re implying!”

“We’re not. It’s a ghost, Georgia – not a demon. Why is a ghost following you?” Sam pressed. He ignored the lights that flickered more sporadically.

“I-I don’t know…” Georgia whimpered. A door in the hall banged. She jumped. Dean lunged forward, grabbing her arm, forcing her to look up at him.

“It’s your sister isn’t it? Isn’t it!” Dean prompted, giving her a small shake when she shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “We looked into your family records – your sister died three years ago. In the last two, you’ve never stayed in one place longer than a few months. Why? Why is your sister haunting you? What did you do?”

The whole house groaned as a wind suddenly picked up, violently banging the windows open, ripping the billowing curtains up towards the ceiling.

“I never meant…I didn’t mean for it to happen!” Georgia wailed, the dam broken. “She killed herself – depression. She was so down all the time that she just couldn’t take anymore. She threw herself in front of a train, leaving Ted and the children motherless! I was so…so _angry_ at her and I felt so sorry for her babies...”

“Wait – _Ted?!_ ” Sam exclaimed. “Your _husband_ , Ted? You married your sister’s husband after she killed herself?”

“They needed me! I didn’t mean to fall in love…it just happened” She choked out, staring wildly at the chaos that was erupting around them. The whole bookcase began to shudder.

“If she was hit by a train, there wouldn’t be any remains” Dean commented, looking around wildly. “What do you have of hers?!”

“What do you mean?” Georgia sobbed.

“She’s anchored to something – something that keeps her near you! It would’ve been something that meant a lot to her” Sam shouted above the rising din. His head whipped around as a figure burst into view in the corner of the room. Her brown hair was long and matted, falling past sagging shoulders. Her glare was fixated on Georgia who froze, mouth agape in horror. Dean grabbed the shotgun, firing a round of rock salt into the ghost, forcing her to dissipate. “Georgia, think! What do you have?” Sam repeated, shaking her by the shoulders. She looked at him and then down at her hands.

Her wedding ring.

Sam followed her gaze and grabbed her ring, wrenching it off of her finger as Dean fired again. Sam flung it in the fireplace – straight into the roaring embers. He grabbed the bottle of accelerant from the duffel bag, spraying it onto the fire which roared higher. He shielded his face from the heat, turning as a piercing scream filled the air. Turning, he watched as Georgia’s sister stood still, the flames licking up her torso as she disintegrated.

The wind died immediately, leaving the whole house quiet. Dean turned to Georgia.

“Her wedding ring, seriously? You couldn’t have got your own?!”

**oOo**

Sam’s eyes snapped open as Dean brought the Impala to a halt outside the Arrow Motel. The stark white building glowed dimly in the yellow streetlights.

“You must’ve really been tired; you went out like a light. Wasn’t even a long drive” Dean remarked, yawning as he got out of the car. Sam shrugged.

“It’s been a long day.” He led the way to their room, opening the door and turning on the light. It was their usual type of motel; frayed around the edges, smelling of age. He walked to the cooler they’d put in the small kitchenette, grabbing two beers as Dean walked into the bathroom. Twisting the lids off both, he glanced at the closed door of the bathroom.

Dean emerged as Sam shoved something back into his pocket. The younger Winchester turned and held out one of the bottles for him.

“Thanks.” Dean took a long mouthful, taking a seat at the table. Sam sat opposite him. He grimaced slightly, looking at his beer. “Your beer taste funny?”

Sam took a swig. “Not really. It’s a bit warm.”

“Can I make one thing clear?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “If I ever do get married and then die, you are NOT allowed to shack up with my would-be wife.”

“Dude, like I’d want your seconds” Sam grimaced, shaking his head. Dean took another long drink, studying his brother closely.

“So you held it together pretty well back there.”

Sam shrugged. “It was an easy case. It’s not like I’m going to fall apart every five minutes, Dean. I didn’t have any interference from Lucifer either. He’s been quite quiet since this afternoon.”

“Well that’s progress, I guess” Dean yawned loudly. Sam finished his beer, heading to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he studied his face. A light sheen of sweat still coated his face and his colour was high. He was surprised Dean hadn’t commented on it. Maybe he’d just chalked it up to all the exercise he’d been doing.

He spent a few minutes cleaning up, giving Dean time to finish his beer. By the time he entered the main room again, Dean was lazily kicking his boots off.

“You going to bed?” Sam asked, watching him.

“Hey, like you said - it’s been a long day” he mumbled, pulling the covers back and crawling under. Sam mimicked his behaviour, turning out the light between them.

He waited.

After a few minutes, Dean’s breathing evened out, becoming long and relaxed. He waited a few more minutes. Made a show of dropping his phone on the floor with a thud. No response from the other bed. Satisfied, Sam sat up, pulling his boots back on.

It was time to hunt.

**oOo**


	4. Just Beneath the Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m taking a bit of artistic licencing in this chapter; cue the cross into S11. Keeping the essence, but changing the facts!

**oOo**

**Pipestone, Minnesota**

The first thing Sam was aware of was the smack of something soft whacking him fully in the face. He lurched upright, hair sticking out at seemingly impossible angles, the offending pillow falling into his lap. He looked groggily at Dean who sat grinning on his bed, tying his bootlace.

“You plannin’ on sleeping all day, Sammy? Get your ass outta bed already!” He remarked. Sam groaned, pulling the covers over his head; he disliked Chipper-Morning-Dean and his ability to be wide awake from the get go. “C’mon, there’s a diner down the road and I’m starving – shift your ass!” Edging the covers back down, Sam peeked out at his brother who was busy stuffing clothes back into his duffel bag.

_How am I this tired?_

**oOo**

Lange’s Café was a small, homely diner that bustled quietly with the gentle hum of its morning customers. Many locals sat at the circular stools pressed against the counter, their feet resting on the polished silver foot bar that ran parallel to the counter, knees pressed solidly against the miniature blue tiles that decorated the side of the work top. The booths were cosy with plump maroon cushions that had started to sag with age and strips of floral padding running across the top of the vertical cushions. A huge chilled display case dominated the space next to the counter, its surface gleaming. Inside stood one of the largest arrays of homemade pies Sam had ever seen. He chuckled drily to himself; every few seconds, Dean would glance at the case, longing evident in his eyes despite the bacon he was shovelling into his mouth. Clearly, there would be a pie-run before they left.

“Do you and the pie need a room?” He quipped, smiling as he sipped his coffee. Dean eased his eyes back in his direction, sighing in contentment.

“Later,” Dean affirmed, making Sam laugh. “Seriously man, this is the best breakfast I’ve had in months; how is it you only wanted coffee?”

“I’m just not hungry this morning” Sam answered, letting the bitter coffee wash over his tongue. Truth be told, he felt _full._ Not your average kind of full either; it was almost Christmas-Day-full where you stuffed yourself so full of food and drink that you felt…sloshy. The continuous waft of Dean’s breakfast was actually starting to make him nauseous.

Dean opened his mouth to reply but closed it when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it from his jeans and looked at the caller ID. Frowned.

“What do you want?” He barked, staring at Sam who frowned in confusion. “…Pipestone, why? We could be back in an hour…fine. We’ll be there.”

“Who was that?”

“Crowley. Says he’s got an update on the whole Amara thing for us. Wants to meet at Bobby’s” Dean explained, finishing the last bite of his eggs.

“Let’s go then” Sam replied, downing the last of his drink. Dean grunted and shook his head. He pointed at the counter.

“First – pie!”

**oOo**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

“Darling! It’s been a while” Crowley exclaimed, grinning broadly at Dean. He stood with his hands rooted in the pockets of his black coat, his whole demeanour relaxed and confident.

“Not long enough, apparently” Dean rolled his eyes. Crowley smiled and shifted his gaze to Sam who glowered at him from the kitchen doorway.

“Moose! Still crazy I presume?”

Before Sam could reply, Bobby cut in. “What is it you want, Crowley?” He leaned against his desk, folding over the corners of a few manuscripts and papers that he’d haphazardly left on it.

“Always down to business so quickly, Bobby; you’re no fun” Crowley sighed dramatically – always the wounded party. “I’ve been doing some digging into our little Darkness issue. Lots of whispers running around the monster circuit, you see. Some were complete tripe, but others had a little more fact than fiction.”

“What’s your point Crowley?” Dean asked, crossing his arms. Sometimes the demon’s roundabout way of getting to a point was just plain aggravating.

“Well it turns out that there were a lot of rumours involving Lucifer,” Crowley explained, looking at Sam who shifted uneasily. “Apparently he was there the last time Amara was around. In fact, he claims he was the one that chucked her in her box the first time.” His eyes stayed fixed on Sam.

“What do you mean ‘he claims’?” Bobby stared, incredulous.

Crowley smiled and spread his hands. “When you’re the King of Hell, you get the all access pass – including nifty little spells that let have some limited FaceTime with those in the cage. He says hi by the way.”

“Get. To. Your. Point.” Dean growled, stepping forward. He watched Sam pale out of the corner of his eye, his throat working furiously.

“Hold your fire, Dean; I’m getting there.”

“Doesn’t seem like it” Bobby said acidly.

 “The long and short of it is that he claims he’s the only one that can stop her again. Clearly his fishing to come topside again – which none of us want, I hasten to add. I quite like how I’ve got Hell now, thank you very much. I would, however, try to find out why he thinks he’s special if I were you. Ducky might be able to help you with that.”

“That’s it?” Dean asked.

“That’s it” Crowley shrugged, waltzing past him. He kept his eyes locked on Sam’s, his back to Dean and Bobby. “I did what you asked; now do your bit” he murmured, low enough that only Sam heard. The younger Winchester looked at him in confusion. Crowley spun on his heel and smiled at Dean. “Got to run; try not to miss me too much.” With that, he was gone.

A searing pained blast through Sam’s mind, making him gasp and clutch his head with one hand. White lights danced behind his eyelids. He felt hands on his shoulders, heard Dean’s voice calling his name; it sounded like he was in a fish bowl. The pain subsided as quickly as it had come.

“Sam? Are you ok?” Dean asked, his eyes full of concern. Sam nodded. “What did Crowley say to you?” Sam stared blankly at him.

“What? He didn’t say anything” Sam replied, puzzled. Dean frowned.

“It looked like he said something to you.”

Sam shook his head. “No – he just turned around and said he had to run.” Dean searched his face, looking for any sign of deception. He saw none. Yet he’d heard Crowley’s deep baritone rumble and clocked Sam’s expression just before the demon left; he just didn’t hear what he said. Why would Sam lie?

“Please tell me you haven’t done anything stupid involving Crowley” Dean responded, not convinced.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Sam glowered. His hands were balled into fists, nails digging in almost painfully. Bobby stepped between the two of them – his hands held up peacefully. Sam continued to glare defensively over his head.

“Alright enough. If he said Crowley didn’t say anythin’ then he didn’t,” Bobby interjected. Dean scowled and moved back into the living room, plonking himself down on the sofa. A sudden wave of nausea swept over Sam, forcing him to cover his mouth with his hand and race for the bathroom. “Sam?! You alright, lad?” Bobby shouted after him, alarmed. He glanced at Dean who looked as surprised as he did. They heard the younger Winchester retching.

“He looked a bit green this morning but I didn’t think anything of it,” Dean admitted, pushing himself off the couch. He padded down the hall to the bathroom, pushing open the door to find Sam slumped over the toilet, heaving pitifully, forehead resting against his arm which was draped over the seat. His body convulsed painfully but, since he’s missed breakfast, he brought up nothing but bile after his coffee. Dean crouched down next to him, rubbing his back in slow circles.

Sam tilted his face to the side, raising his eyes to look at the person behind him. Lucifer grinned down at him. Sam groaned and feebly tried to push his arm away.

“Get it all up” Dean said soothingly, but all Sam heard was Lucifer’s voice. He moaned, pushing himself up and away from the hand on his back. He staggered to the sink, rinsing out his mouth with water. He looked balefully at Lucifer who stood smirking behind him. “What’s wrong?” Dean asked, unable to comprehend the look Sam was giving him in the mirror. He stepped forward, raising a hand to reach for his little brother’s forehead.

“Stay away from me!” Sam shouted, his eyes focused on Lucifer’s maniacal grin as he approached. He tried to bat aside the hand that came towards him, focusing on the knife in the clenched fist.

Startled, Dean winced as Sam’s hand smacked into his forearm, his unfocused eyes fixated on Dean’s hand. His brother went on the offensive, throwing punches wildly at him. Realising that Sam was caught in the middle of a hallucination, Dean grappled with him, trying to stop his flailing arms, grunting when some of the punches connected.

“Sam! Sam, stop! It’s me! Stop!” He shouted, managing to grab hold of both of Sam’s wrists. He pressed his thumb into Sam’s palm, watching Sam wince as he dug it in.

Lucifer flickered and shimmered as the pain in his hand grew. He disappeared; Dean standing in his place. Dean’s hands wrapped around his wrists. Dean’s concerned eyes fixed on him.

“Dean.” Sam’s eyes finally focused on his, horrified. The tension fell away from his shoulders, his arms relaxing. “I don’t…I don’t feel…” Before he could finish, Sam’s eyes rolled up into his head and he fell forward into his brother. Caught off guard, Dean nearly dropped under the sudden weight. Placing a hand against Sam’s forehead, Dean winced. He was on fire.

“Bobby?! A little help!”

**oOo**

Dusk fell slowly, draping the scrapyard in a blanket of shadows. It eased over the house like a blanket, wrapping it in a comforting darkness. The windows glowed a soft orange, spilling their light out onto the gravel beyond. Inside, the fire crackled gently in the living room, sending flickering darts of light across the floor. Dean sat, his face half enveloped in the light, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his cupped hands. His chair was aligned with the faded red couch; Sam’s broad form balled up on it beneath a blanket. He was shivering profusely, knees drawn up to his chest in a foetal position. He clutched the blanket up under his chin even though his brow was dowsed in sweat, strands of hair stuck to his forehead. Every now and then a soft moan escaped his lips but his eyes remained firmly shut.

“So until this afternoon, you thought his facetime with Lucifer was gettin’ less? Like his hallucinations were gettin’ better?” Bobby asked softly, watching Dean from behind his desk. He sipped his whisky slowly, letting the spirit roll over his tongue. Dean glanced at him, but his eyes quickly returned to Sam’s prone form.

“I hadn’t seen him touch his gimp hand for a while; I knew when he was tryin’ to get rid of somethin’ cause he’d press it like I showed him. I dunno, Bobby. I dunno how much he really sees and how much he can cope with. What if this never goes away?”

Bobby lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, sadness tugging the corners of his mouth down. “Then we deal as best we can. Look, we can’t do anythin’ for him now – I’m goin’ t’bed.”

“I’m gonna stay” Dean murmured, keeping his eyes on Sam. Bobby nodded, patting him on the shoulder as he ambled past.

**oOo**

The fire had died, leaving tiny glimmers of embers chewing slowly on the blackened logs left in the hearth. The living room was bathed in the star light that streamed in through the window, changing the warm red and yellows to eerie blues and blacks. Dean sat sprawled in the hard wooden chair he had been in all night; his long legs stretched out in front of him. His chin rested softly against his chest which rose and fell rhythmically as he slept.

In the darkness, Sam watched.

He had stayed in the same position for half an hour, controlling his own breathing so that he sounded asleep. His eyes glinted in the darkness as he studied Dean carefully. The older Winchester hadn’t moved for a while. Pushing back the blanket and standing silently, Sam edged his way around Dean, grabbing his jacket and shoes without a sound. Keeping his ears tuned for any signs of Dean’s waking, he snuck over to the back door. Turned the latch, waiting for the click it would make. He waited. No noise from Dean.

Easing the door open, Sam slipped out into the night.


	5. It Comes Awake

**oOo**

The first thing he noticed was a soft tickling on his nose. He lifted a hand, rubbing his nose to dispel the annoying sensation. His hand cast a defined shadow across the light that was penetrating his eyelids. The living room shouldn’t be this bright. When did the sofa get so hard?

Blinking blearily, Sam eased his eyes open, sitting up frantically, his hair flying as he whipped his head around. Gravel scraped against his palms as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, looking around wildly. Long strands of grass swayed lazily in the wind, brushing against his cheek. The gravel road he was lying on split four ways; the surface broken with weeds growing between the sharp rocks. Sam looked down at himself; he was still wearing the same faded blue shirt and jeans he had been wearing the day before. He jumped when he felt a vibration in his right pocket. Fumbling, he pulled his phone out, checking the caller ID. Dean.

“Dean?”

“ _Sammy?! Where the hell are you? I’ve been calling you for a half hour!”_ Dean shouted down the phone, his voice thick with anger and concern.

“I-I don’t know. I’m in the middle of nowhere” Sam replied, looking around to get his bearings. “I don’t even know how I got here.”

_“Turn your phone’s GPS on; I’ll come find you.”_ He hung up abruptly, leaving Sam staring at his phone. What the hell was going on? Annoyance flared through him at Dean’s brusque response; it wasn’t like he had chosen to wake up in the middle of nowhere. He flicked through his phone’s setting, turning on the GPS as per instructed. Pushing himself up, he looked around. There was nothing but flat waves of rippling grass for miles in every direction. How had he even got there?

He started walking down the road, heading over the crossroads. He had no idea how long Dean would be and just sitting still like some damsel in distress wasn’t ever going to be an option. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled despite the warm sun overhead. He stopped, looking around.

Nothing was there.

**oOo**

The growl of the Impala was the first signal that Dean was close. Sam had been walking for well over hour yet he had seen no other road users at all. He stopped, relieved, as the Impala sped towards him, dust flecking the black sides of the car. Dean rolled to a stop beside him, the familiar popping of the engine’s idle relaxing the tension out of Sam’s shoulders. He slid into the passenger seat, leaning back heavily against the seat.

“What the hell, man?” Dean barked, his voice tight and raised, glare fixed on Sam. “You sneak off in the middle of the night; you don’t leave a note and you just pop up in the middle of nowhere! Seriously, what is goin’ on with you?!”

Sam fought to keep his voice calm; Dean had a right to be angry. “I honestly don’t know. I’m not kidding. I have no idea where ‘here’ even is.”

“We’re just outside of Storm Lake.”

“In _Iowa_??” Sam exclaimed, astonished. He watched the anger cool in Dean’s eyes. It stung that his brother had assumed he was lying, but, given their history, Sam could hardly be surprised.

“Did Lucifer lead you here? Did he make you think you were with me again?” Dean asked more softly, facing forward as he started the Impala moving again. Sam shook his head.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Sam chewed his lower lip, his eyes becoming unfocused as he thought back. “Feeling awful and puking in the bathroom. I thought you were Lucifer and then it was you…I don’t remember anything after that.”

“How do you feel now?” Dean asked gruffly, worry lines appearing when he frowned.

“Fine,” Sam replied, shrugging. “I don’t understand it.” He looked at the road ahead, something nagging at his mind. “Why aren’t we turning round? Bobby’s is the other way, right?”

“We’re not going back to Bobby’s. I found us a case.” Dean cast a sideways look at Sam, his face expressionless. “Unless you think you need to go back?”

“No – I’m fine. Just surprised you picked up a case that quick” Sam murmured, suppressing the twinge of unease in his gut. “What’re we dealing with?”

“Missing truckers in Dodge City. Three of ‘em. Spoke to the morgue – one’s turned up. Figured we’d go look at the body – see what we’re dealing with.” Dean explained, turning the Impala onto the I-80. He motioned to the backseat. Sam turned and glimpsed his laptop perched between their bags. “It’s gonna be a long ride; see what you can dig up.”  

**oOo**

**Dodge City, Kansas**

By the time they arrive at Dodge City, it was nearly 6pm. People lined the streets, hurrying home from work. The steps up to the coroner’s offices were vacant, except for one man yelling into his phone, clearly annoyed at someone for missing a deadline. Sam followed behind Dean, readjusting his tie as they entered the building. The reception room was spacious and ordered with blue chairs nestled off to one side of the large desk that dominated the wall directly ahead of them. A single door sat to the left, a passcode system flashing idly. The woman at the desk smiled brightly as the boys pulled out their FBI badges; Dean informing her that they were there to see the missing trucker.

As they spoke, Sam felt the uneasiness from earlier creeping into his veins. He looked at the people sat in the chairs; a woman was sat scrolling idly through her phone while the man next to her was hidden behind a newspaper. All Sam could see was the top of his head, brown hair flopping forward, and his crossed legs below the newspaper’s ridiculously large pages.

“This way, agents.” Sam was startled from his scrutiny as a technician appeared, beckoning him and Dean through the door to the left of the reception desk. They twisted through the long corridors, passing multiple offices and people in either suits or lab coats.

The lights glared down on them, reflecting off of the steel doors lining one of the walls of the morgue. The polished white tiles enhanced the lighting so that it was almost painfully bright. The sterile environment could never truly eliminate the faint smell of death that lingered in every one Sam had been in. By now, he should be used to it; he wasn’t. He breathed lightly through his mouth as the technician hauled open the drawer containing their victim. He pulled back the white sheeting, revealing the gruesome Y incision that contrasted grotesquely with the pale skin surrounding it.

“Matthew Havlena,” the technician said, reading off of the flipchart in his hand. “Found in a ditch off the interstate.”

“Cause of death?” Dean asked, leaning forward to inspect the body.

“Missing five pints of blood can’t have helped,” the technician replied sardonically. He pointed at the corpse’s thighs and neck with his pen. Deep holes littered the skin, open and raw. “Puncture wounds in the femoral arteries and carotid.”

“So, what? Some kind of animal attack?” Dean interjected.

“Or a vampire?” Both Sam and Dean turned and fixed their gazes on the smirking technician. His expression withered under the boys’ icy stares. “Huh. That…usually gets at least a chuckle.” He passed the flipchart to Sam and walked away, grumbling about feds and their lack of humour. Dean frowned, looking intently at the wounds on the victim’s neck.

“What do you think? Could he be right?” He asked, straightening up. Sam looked up from the flipchart, noting the positioning of the bites.

“I don’t think so. Look at the bite marks; they aren’t regular or in line. Vampires have what – a minimum of eight teeth on each row? There aren’t enough punctures on his neck for that” Sam said quietly, still conscious of the technician loitering behind them. Dean flipped the sheet back over the corpse, placing the flip chart on top.

“Let’s go see what the research says” Dean said, walking back towards the door.

Outside, the pedestrian traffic had started to die down, creating a more leisurely pace compared to the chaos from earlier. Dean hopped down the steps towards the Impala, leaving Sam standing at the top of the stairs. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling again. He scanned the street suspiciously, eyes falling on a figure stood across the road from him. He was far off – too far to make out his features – but Sam was sure that he was staring directly at him. Sam started forward, eyes fixed on the man. It couldn’t be-?

“Sam! You coming?” Dean hollered, drawing Sam’s gaze to him. When Sam looked up again, the man was gone. There was something weird going on; Sam just couldn’t place his finger on it. Shaking his head, he climbed into the Impala.

“You losing it again?” Dean asked. Sam flinched at the lack of compassion in his voice.

“No. I just thought I saw…”

“Lucifer?”

“No…someone I thought I recognised,” Sam explained quietly. He rubbed his hands together slowly. “I haven’t seen Lucifer since before I passed out.”

“Good. We could do without you going off the deep end.” Sam glanced sideways at his brother, frowning. He knew Dean was getting frustrated with him, but he wasn’t usually so…cold about it.

**oOo**

“Ok I think I got something,” Dean said triumphantly, flicking between pages in John Winchester’s journal. The pages were yellowed and battered, but had continued to provide a wealth of information. Sam looked over the top of his laptop at Dean. They were both sat at the table in their pokey motel room, ties off, shirts untucked, top buttons loose. “A vetala. Dad took one down back in the day – used a silver knife to the heart; one twist and they’re done. He says they’re maladjusted loner types: like to knock a guy out, drag him home and feed slow. They sound delightful.”

A vision flashed through Sam’s head – a single image of a drawing stuck to a page. It looked tribal with a snake wrapped around a dancing figure, the word ‘vetala’ written across the top in calligraphic script.

“Let me see that” he ordered, motioning with his hand. Dean passed him the journal. Sure enough, there was the same drawing staring back at him. “That’s not right.”

“I know, right? Guy thinks he’s gonna get some and bang! He’s snake food.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Dad said they’re loners; they’re not. They hunt in pairs – one to lure in their prey, the other to incapacitate them.”

“How do you know that? We’ve never come across one of these things” Dean asked, confusion flickering through his eyes.

“I just…do. Look, why don’t we head to that truck stop the last vic was seen at and ask around? If they are vetala, I doubt they’ve moved on yet.”

**oOo**

The Wheel On Inn was a typical trucker’s stop. The parking lot was lined with rows of trucks parked with narrow alleys between them, creating a rabbit warren of hiding places. The single storey building squatted amongst the menagerie of vehicles. Inside, its walled were clad with wooden panelling that was scratched and worn, despite the owner’s attempts to polish them back to life. A yellow lager sign shone brightly over the top of the bar; its shelves lined with numerous bottles of liquor, many of which were half empty. AC/DC played quietly in the background, barely audible amidst the murmured conversations that sparked from the inn’s multiple patrons.

Sam entered alone, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He had swapped his suit for a flannel shirt and jeans, wanting to blend in rather than put the truckers on edge. A pretty blonde waitress was busy clearing one of the central tables as he entered. She smiled at him invitingly. Recognition flashed through his mind, momentarily stopping him. She looked so familiar. He shook his head. How on earth could he possibly know her?

“Hi! What can I get you?” she asked, tucking her short hair behind one ear. Sam smiled at her warmly and pulled out a picture of Matthew Havlena that he had printed from his Facebook page before coming to the truck stop.

“You ever seen this man?” he asked, watching her face carefully. She leaned in to study the picture, her neat eyebrows furrowed as she concentrated.

“I might have served him the other week” she replied, half shrugging. She looked around, spotting her manager a few feet away, chatting with another customer. She leaned in, lowering her voice. “I think he might have gone to… _talk_ to that girl out there.” She nodded towards the window. Sam turned and followed her gaze to a tall brunette who was sauntering towards the door, her focus on her phone. She wore a short denim skirt, revealing incredibly long legs and a baby blue top that was cropped at her middle. Oversized bracelets hung loosely off of her wrists.

“Thanks” Sam muttered, walking out towards the door. The cool night air ruffled his hair as he exited the Wheel On Inn. “Hey!” he called, startling the girl who turned frightened eyes up to him. “Can I talk to you for a moment, uh…” He spied the golden necklace with her name around her neck. “…Sally?” Another flash of recognition passed through him. This was starting to feel more and more like déjà vu. He held up the picture of Matthew again. “You ever seen this man?” She shifted from foot to foot, averting her eyes as she shook her head. “You sure?” Sam pressed further, suspicious of her behaviour. She smiled at him nervously.

“It’s not safe here” she murmured, motioning for him to follow. He trailed along behind her, glancing briefly to his left to see Dean prowling between two trucks parallel to him. Sally led him further into the warren of alleys, stopping between two vacant trucks. She still glanced around nervously as she stopped and turned to face him. “Something’s going on around here. I’m afraid I’ll be next” she confessed quietly, biting her lip.

“Tell me what you saw” he urged. Something was off; why would she be afraid? All the victims were men.

“I don’t know what I saw!” she cried, her eyes moving past Sam. He drew his knife on instinct and whirled around just as the waitress lunged towards him. He slashed at her with his knife, but she grabbed his wrist with one hand, his neck with the other, slamming him back into the truck with a loud thud.

“Dean!” He gasped, grappling with at the hand around his throat. It wouldn’t budge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sally approach, gasped as a foot connected with the back of his knees, dropping him to the ground. She leaned in, fangs bared, aiming for his neck. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain he knew was coming.

It never did.

Instead, Sally screeched horrifically, her expression full of surprise. Dean towered over her, his arm jerking as he twisted the knife in her back.

“No!” the waitress shrieked, her grasp on Sam’s wrist loosening minutely. He wrenched his hand free, using the distraction to plunge his knife into her heart. Twisted. She convulsed, falling to the floor. Dean pulled him up, his eyes searching Sam for signs of injury.

“I guess they do hunt in pairs” he remarked. Sam gave a dry chuckle, rubbing his neck. The feeling that something was wrong surged over him again. Disjointed images flashed through his mind: a young girl telling him he wouldn’t come back, a hunter tied to a chair, Sally stood over him preparing to bite his neck.

“This isn’t right. It’s not what happened” he muttered. A movement to his right caught his eye. He frowned, gripping his knife tightly. The figure withdrew into the shadows behind the truck. “Hey!” Sam shouted, sprinting in that direction. He vaguely heard his brother calling his name but he refused to stop. The uneasiness that had grown in him all day was spiking and the person in the shadows had something to do with it. He raced between the trucks, blood pumping, breath escaping in ragged gasps as he gave chase to the figure that always seems to be just out of sight.

He emerged from between the trucks, the Wheel On Inn before him. The figure ran to the side, heading towards the inn’s motel section. Sam upped his pace. Saw the figure disappear through the first door in the row of motel rooms. Sam leapt up the stairs onto the wooden decking. He shouldered his way in through the door, splintering the wood with a loud crack.

And stopped.

The door swung shut behind him with a loud metal clang. His brain registered the solid iron walls, the cabinet full of guns, the single metal cot pushed up against the wall. He recognised the devil’s trap that was scratched into the floor. His brain registered it all, but couldn’t fathom the figure before him.

Sam stood, mouth agape, eyes fixed on himself.

“Long time no see, Sam.”

**oOo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vetala episode is Adventures in Babysitting if you were pondering which case I ‘borrowed’ for this.


End file.
